Motion Blur
by Sorceress Eiva
Summary: Some things are meant to be done, even if you aren't supposed to do them. It's not like you can help wanting to help, after all. Pre-game Tserith, written for CrimsonSun on dA.


A/N: Written for DeviantArt's CrimsonSun, who is an amazing artist and draws such wonderful FFVII stuff. Also a pioneer of Tserith (huzzah!). Writing this made me want to continue with c'la, but I still don't know when I'll be able to do that. Anyway, Tserith helping, here y'are. It's all good.

* * *

He watches her. She doesn't notice; she is too busy threading flowers through each other and braiding them into her hair. Not for the first time, he remembers a time when there was no flora in Midgar, and is amazed at how much things have changed due to the simple arrival of a strange child. Back then, there was no chance of even a single blade of grass growing anywhere in the slums, and now there were strange, foreign flowers popping up here and there. Most people ignored the obvious and attributed it to the air suddenly getting better, but he knew better.

He watches her. She finishes weaving plants into her hair - no doubt she'll get scolded later, but she's never minded that - and turns to the girl next to her, helping her to slit the stem with her fingernail and tuck another flower through the hole. They help each other out for a while; she makes a chain of flowers for her friend, and the other girl stops the makeshift hairpiece from falling out her head. The second crown took shape and place on the other girl's head, and they play together. He watches, silent and unmoving.

The time seems to pass quicker than usual, and the other girl stands and takes her leave, keeping her crown as she skips away. He doesn't change position, knowing that she won't leave until she absolutely has to, and he's right. She remains on her knees, playing in the dirt of the slums, tugging at the flowers and smiling at them the entire time. No-one walking past comments on this. They know she is a strange child, but they don't interfere. She brings them some kind of happiness no matter who they are.  
She invariably gets bored of sitting around after a while, and stands, and he follows suit. She moves in the direction of the playground, and he sticks to the shadows, barely taking his eyes off her. Maybe she thinks there will be other children around her age playing there, even though it is time to eat. Whatever her reason, she continues in that direction, alternating between walking sensibly and skipping. He sees what is going to happen a second before it does, and he is at her side in a second as she lies on the floor and begins to wail.

He helps her sit up and pats her back in what he hopes is a reassuring way. She trembles underneath his touch with the effort of not crying, because she is a strong child, and she rarely cries. After her shock she suppresses her desire to scream and presses her lips tightly together, blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay. Her face turns red and blotchy with the effort, and he notices that some of the flowers have fallen from their place. He reaches for them and places them in her hands. She does not respond for a short while, and when she does her voice quavers.  
"Thank you."  
He does not respond and instead shifts his gaze to her knees. They are both grazed and a single bead of blood rolls down the side of her leg. She raises her right arm and offers it to him as he looks the the damage; a quick glance tells him that she will have a large bruise there for the rest of the week, but it is nothing serious. He brushes her knees with his palm roughly in an attempt to clean the cut of grit and dust, and she flinches, but doesn't make a sound. The blood smears on her skin and makes the damage look worse than it is, and he grimaces.  
"You'll be fine," he says in a low voice. "Skinned knees. You can get by with just that. You're lucky you didn't fall awkwardly."

She nods and he realises he is still rubbing her back, and stops. She remains as she is for a moment before scrambling to her feet. He also rises, and they stand together in silence, more than a little awkwardly.  
"You were following me," she says all of a sudden, and it isn't a question. He nods. "Why do you follow me?"  
"It's my job," he replies, completely deadpan. He does not add that he wants to follow her because she interests him and he wants to keep her safe from the very people he works for. He does not think she will understand.  
"I think it's more than that," she says, and not for the first time, he is amazed. She is more intelligent than she lets on. "If you don't want to tell me then that's fine. You're allowed to have secrets." she moves her arm a little stiffly and winces as she says this, and then she turns and looks up at him with the intensity that children hold. "But it would be nice if you didn't follow me all the time. Maybe you could come out and play for a change, instead."

He blinks in surprise and tries to keep from letting this expression leak out onto his face. She is smiling as though she wasn't talking to someone that she had every right to hate, and her attention is half on him, half on the crushed and twisted flowers he returned to her. She does her best to fix them and even returns two to her hair, keeping the remainders cradled safely in her hands.  
"Play?" he repeats dumbly.  
"You know, like how I was earlier. Maybe you can teach me how to climb things better or I could teach you how to make a flower necklace. You could give it to the girl you like."  
He is unable to help the smile that appears on his lips, and he lets himself nod, knowing that it is unlikely that he would allow himself to become too involved with her. He cannot bring himself to say 'no', however, and he does not interrupt as she lists the many things they could do that would involve him not breaking the rules of his job. He escorts her to the playground as she talks, never saying a word, and she is content to continue talking without interruption. As predicted, there is no-one else there, but this does not phase her and she makes her way swiftly to the swings. She settles herself comfortably and kicks her legs once or twice, never pausing her words. He offers to push her and she stops to laugh at him.  
"I don't need help, I can do it myself - watch."  
And she leans forwards and backwards, pulling and pushing at the chains that hold the seat off the floor. She begins a slow but steady rhythm and is able to propel herself into rising and falling in the air. Flowers begin to rain from the plated sky, and he makes an effort to catch as many as he can.  
"I bet you can't catch me up," she says to him as she swings closer to the floor, and then she is gone again. She is taunting him, he knows, and he wants to be able to join in with her games. Instead he waits for her to descend again, and mutters that he is sure he can't, and he sees her expression change into something a little darker, but she says no more, and neither does he.

Presently he decides that he cannot be seen with her any longer, and makes his excuses to her. She doesn't say anything to stop him from leaving - maybe she understands that he cannot be who she wants him to be - and allows him to leave her sight. He disappears from the eyes of those who don't know how to look for him, and blends into the background, becoming just another part of the bland, grey scenery, and watches as she continues to swing higher and faster. Other children enter and join her, and they start a game that involves her jumping off the swing and landing with a thump to join them. Unconsciously, he crushes the flowers between his fingers, and hopes that one day he might be able to acquiesce to her wishes.


End file.
